


Luke Lars, Private Detective

by Seasider



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Original Trilogy
Genre: AU, Crack, Gen, Humor, i don’t know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26203531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seasider/pseuds/Seasider
Summary: A boy, a smuggler, a Wookiee, a princess, a Sith, a galaxy, a Hutt, a bounty hunter, a brother, a sister, a father, a few friends... somehow they all come together as Luke Lars stalks his quarry.
Relationships: Han Solo & Leia Organa, Leia Organa & Darth Vader, Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader, Luke Skywalker & Han Solo, Luke Skywalker & Leia Organa
Kudos: 10





	Luke Lars, Private Detective

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes stories happen for which there can be no excuse and no apology. It is what it is, and more of it will probably happen. You are warned. (Of what? Well... I’m not sure.) (Oh, wait, yes I do: warnings for innuendoes and bad puns)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke starts to gather his crew.

_ “I don't like people. I don't like any kind of people. When you get them together in a big lump they all get nasty and dirty and full of trouble. So I don't like people including you. That's what a misanthropist is.”  _

_ ― Mickey Spillane, The Big Kill _

My name is Lars. Luke Lars. I’m a private detective, best in the Outer Rim. Private means selective; I only take clients who can pay and pay big ‘cause I got big expenses. Got a state of the art hyped-up ship, she’s disguised like a piece of junk, burns high octane fuel, can outrun anything the E-Men put up against her. And they send a lot. They’re after me because I outfox them every time. I’m a dude. A tough dude. A killer. A potential killer, just haven’t come up against anything evil enough to kill. Yet.

Missed out on the Tusken raid a couple years back. I was shootin’ jacks at Tosche while they were wiping out the homestead. Came back to nothin’. Been on my own ever since. Won my lady-ship gambling and built up a rep for tracking down skips using nothing more than my hunches.

Right now I’m working a job for the Hutt, Jabba the wreck of a Hutt, a slimy, wannabe crime lord who lives in a ‘castle’ - sweet word for a filthy cave that somebody slapped a roof on a few hundred years ago. He’s disgusting, but he’s got thousands of credits spewin’ out of that slimy tail and he’s not afraid to spread it around.

I’m getting enough c’s for this job that I don’t have to go solo. I can afford helpers. Hired a Mando armor I’ve used before, name of Fett, Bob Fett. I’m giving Fett a cut, only half a percent because I just need location, not pickup. Fett’s got too much finesse. He’s blown pickups before. Now I need muscle, hard muscle, someone who doesn’t blow.

Finding some No-Blow muscle is why I’m stalking my home territory, Mos-E, walking into Chalum’s. It’s my crib away from my lady junker ship, the  _ Perennial Millennial. _

The barkeep, Wuher, gives me the private eye. “Usual?” he mutters under his breath like he’s gonna slip me something illegal.

I nod. It’s not illegal, but it’s rare, not easy to come by on this backwater of a planet.

“One Virgin Skywalker comin’ up.” He slides over a small container of pure, sweet mama H2O.

“Got a name?”

“Yeah. Wuher. You?”

We go through this comedy every time. I down the water and slap 20 creds on the bar for the info. He nods to a table built for two and whispers a name.  _ Solo, Han Solo. _

Yeah, heard of him, never run into him. He’s a gun for hire. He looks hard muscle, like he’s right up my alley. There’re plenty of locals available, but I prefer off-worlders. When it comes to special jobs like this, they’re more inventive. Daring. Exciting. Sometimes even thrilling.

So I’ve been told. Don’t know firsthand.

Feet on the table, ankles crossed, showing off nerf-hide boots that look like they’ve plowed half the galaxy. Or maybe one-quarter. This one is a human, he’s cocky, thinks he’s special ‘cause he’s got a real animal with him.

“So. You’re Solo, Han Solo.”

Cocoa eyes look me up and down like they’re stripping off my jacket and boots. “My name and my game. You’re Lars?”

“Yeah. Lars, Luke Lars. I’m a dick.”

Solo sips a pink drink that doesn’t look like any Virgin. “You might not want to lead with that, kid. Even if it’s true.”

The joke is older than he is. “Private  _ detective.  _ I’m on the job for Jabba.”

“Oh, yeah? A Jabbajob, huh?”

Is this clown trying to be funny?

“You say your game is solo?” I ask skeptically. “That’s strange, ‘cause you got a Furry right here and rumor says you got a duckling imprinted on you. Follows you around.”

“A chick,” he says, as if there’s any difference. “A princess bird.”

Whoa. That changes things. I never seen a princess. A few queens, or so they said, but a princess is a whole ‘nother side of nuggets. Why would she be with this hard muscle? Runaway? “She fly the coop?”

“Yeah.” Solo nods to his companion. Wookiee. “Chewbacca.”

“Not on  _ my _ ship, brother. No chewin’ bacca allowed. It’s not good for you and it makes a mess.”

The look he gives me strips off not just the rest of my clothes, but also a few years. “That’s his name, junior. Chewbacca. What’s the Jabbajob?”

“Find a skip and recover him.”

“Rustler?”

“You could say that. Made a trade, broke the deal, took off with the goods.” I shrug, hiding my nerves that are suddenly less than steely. “He’s a crime lord. Sith.”

“Shit.”

“No,  _ Sith.” _

“Whatever. Guy got a name?”

Chewbacca roars something about everyone having a name. Yeah, I understand Wook, don’t speak it other than a nighttime howl now and again.

“Vader, Darth Vader.”

Hard Muscle leans back and looks at the ceiling. I’ve looked there before. There’s a lot to see. Art, some people call it. I call it  **_****_ ** that gets people the death warrant in twelve systems.

“Vader? The Emperor’s henchman?”

“More like his plot bunny from what I hear.”

Hard Mus—  _ Solo _ gives me a look. I’m used to that. “So you think you can pull a rabbit out of that hat?”

“Helmet,” I correct, and slide over the flyer with a likeness of Vader.

Solo picks it up. “Draw this yourself?”

I shrug. “You’ll find I’m full of surprises.”

“Huh. You do the ceiling too?”

My eyes roll, but I tighten up and stop them from moving. “No. Let’s get down to business. I gotta guy to track him, then we pick him up together. Your cut is two percent.”

“Snake eyes?” He laughs. “Twenty.”

I snort. Damned if I know what snake eyes means, but I up my offer. “Four and that’s it.”

“Fifteen. I gotta hand-feed the bird.”

Well. Okay, a princess probably gets her feathers ruffled easily. And I want this— I mean, I  _ need _ this guy. “Twelve. And the bird stays in her cage.”

The Wookiee reminds him that they have debts. I don’t let on that I understand.

“Fourteen and she comes along.”

We could keep doing this for a fortnight, so I settle. “Fine, thirteen.” Why not, I can afford it. And this guy looks like he can barely clothe himself let alone dress up a princess bird. At least the Wookiee doesn’t need clothes. I slide a glance under the table to be sure he’s decent. I can’t afford to get picked up for mammal exposure. The Wook’s long fur covers the naughty bits.

Yeah, okay, I know what Wooks look like when they part their hairs. Only because there’s one on the ceiling.

The Wook says,  _ he’s a kid, just play along. _

Yeah? I may be only fifteen, but I’m ancient when it comes to… well. Anyway. Old enough.

“Agreed. And the bird comes along,” Solo says. He offers his hand to confirm the job, but I’ve been taken in by those sort of hand jobs before so I pretend I don’t see it.

“Who’s the tracker?” he asks.

“Fett, Bob Fett.”

“Boba,” Solo says, sipping his cocktail. “His name’s Boba.”

Oh… right. “His friends call him ‘Bob’.”

Solo chokes and spits pink out of his nostrils. He recovers and smirks. “So… let’s buckle down and do this thing.”

“Sure.” I glance surreptitiously at my buckle. Yeah, it’s solid, still up. “Get the bird. Docking Bay 35. The  _ Perennial Millennial.” _

The Wook says  _ hold it, _ and Solo does. “Hey, Quick-Draw, not so fast. We get paid up front.”

I keep my eyes up front. “You get paid after I get paid.”

“No. Up front.”

“Can’t give you what I don’t have.” I meet the chocolate eyes and send a little influence his way. “You pays your money and you takes your chances.”

_ What? _ the Wook asks.

Solo shrugs. “It means we’re goin’ with the kid. Go on. I’ll get Leia.”

It feels like the start of a beautiful… uh… of a working relationship.

# # #


End file.
